


flightless butterflies

by jxshua



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Emo af, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 11:05:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11356206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jxshua/pseuds/jxshua
Summary: wonwoo and mingyu are in love.but why is wonwoo coughing up flowers?





	1. flightless butterflies

An abyss of darkness flooded into his line of sight, instantly blinding his visions. Dried tear tracks burned relentlessly against his flesh, and he could feel despair twisting deep within his chest. But he made no attempt to move, simply content with knowing that the love of his life was slumbering in his arms.

Chills began tickling his bare arms. The consistent beeping of the heart monitor was somehow of comfort in his current state, or so he thought. He could feel it; it was excruciating, tearing him apart from inside. A fit of coughs spilled past his trachea and splatters of blood stained the sheets.

He abruptly blacked out.

 

The lopsided turn of his lips was adorable, spreading across his radiant and defined features. Myriads of stars pooled in his wolfish obsidian orbs, glimmering with mischief and crinkled happiness. His skin was a rich tone of sunkissed bronze, unmarred and clear of blemishes.

Kim Mingyu was a sight indeed, sporting a head of faded cerulean locks with benevolence glowing in his eyes. He was a laidback kid, and preferred an evening of games and pizza and hanging out with the boys till the wee hours of the morning. Wonwoo understood perfection adequately, it was a non existent concept sculptured by the gods.

Perfection would throw this world into disarray, wreck havoc and churn flames of envy in our minds. Yet here he was, curled up on the couch with soda and popcorn in his hands while a blue haired young man, airbrushed to perfection, was slinking by his side languorously. Mingyu was flawless. His visage was angular, beyond elegant.

His contagious laughter, his loveable quirks, his little canines (they are fucking adorable, whether you agree or not) — everything about him was endearing. Wonwoo knew that Mingyu was dangerous and uncannily perfect. But it didn’t stop him from falling for the beautiful young man, even though the consequences could possibly be severe.

The last thing he wanted to do was sabotage their relationship.

Sometimes Wonwoo thinks that he’s imagining things — it’s a thought that he refused to dismiss. He certainly does not miss the way Mingyu would interlace their fingers together tightly while they are watching an action thriller on TV. Or how Mingyu’s gaze would linger on his form for a little too long as a teasing grin settled on his features.

And how he would nonchalantly loop his arm around Wonwoo’s shoulders and pull him closer against his broad frame.

That was definitely _not_ okay.

He just couldn’t handle it. He hated it, how his heart would take a plunge when Mingyu smiled at him. He hated the feeling of Mingyu’s warmth engulfing his body. He struggled to supress the jealousy gurgling inside his gut when a pretty girl at the bar would brush their fingers against Mingyu’s forearm, in an unsavoury attempt to flirt with him.

Wonwoo has been bearing with this repetitive process of self loathing for years. Knowing Mingyu has always been a gift. His alluring smiles were irradiant, vivid to the memory and _boy_ , was he always a bundle of sunshine. Wonwoo didn’t want to lose him. He treasured their friendship more than anything else in the world.

But as graduation came round the corner, panic began coursing through his veins at the dreadful thought of them drifting apart. He didn’t want that. He wanted to hold onto Mingyu forever, bask in his dizzyingly sweet presence and laugh at his utterly ridiculous jokes.

Didn’t that sound ideal?

 

“Mingyu?”

Said male was casually stuffing handfuls of caramel popcorn into his mouth, well distracted by the season finale of How I Met Your Mother. “Sup?”

Silence greeted him in response. The blue haired teen craned his neck to shoot his best friend a questioning glance. Wonwoo was uncharacteristically silent, the words somehow jammed in his throat.

“What’s wrong?” Mingyu asked tentatively, his voice swallowed by the noise from the television.

“I really like you.”

Deep breaths.

“Not in a friendly way. Friends don’t give you butterflies. They don’t make you suffocate and they certainly don’t make your heart leap out of your chest,” he started fidgeting skittishly, desperate to avoid eye contact.

“I like you Mingyu. I had to tell you this before graduation and I totally understand if you want to throw me out right now. But I just wanted you to know that I really, genuinely like you—”

He was abruptly cut off by a pair of plush lips landing against his and all he could taste was the cloying wonders of the world, with a hint of soda. The kiss was perfect, as perfect as Mingyu was and he could not ask for anything more. Wonwoo stared, with an embarrassing flush painting his cheeks as the other parted from him with a knowing smile.

“I like you too.”

They graduated with flying colours and kisses.

 

Their relationship rustled like a calm breeze. They always fought, like the childish young creatures they were, but it never stopped their hearts from lurching in their chests whenever they met, an experience akin to your first breathtaking moment on stage. They were just utterly in love.

Mingyu was as beautiful as a rose blooming amidst winter. Brilliant crimson petals with unmatchable beauty. Always warm, passionate and bright while the world around them was freezing to the edges, cold and heartless like the Grinch.

But even when the air outside gave him the chills, Mingyu always felt like home to him and Wonwoo slowly fell in love with the beauteous colours splashing before his eyes. Mingyu brought about an eloquent palette of watercolours into his visions; something which he never thought was possible.

He could see the universe swimming before his eyes, hope lighting up the end of the tunnel and serenity inhibiting his heart. Mingyu made all his wildest dreams and yearnings seem…attainable.

 

“You will become the next Picasso,” the blue haired male flipped up his thumbs with a happy grin, “And rock the world.”

Wonwoo laughed.

But Mingyu was right.

Wonwoo pursued his dreams in a prestigious art school and breezed through with great ease, popularising his name among well known critics and grand exhibitions. During the seasons, he would watch in excitement as his paintings were tucked away in brown paper and shipped off to ecstatic buyers. This was everything he had dreamed of.

“I always knew that you could do it,” Mingyu enveloped him in a warm hug, his tone loving and soothing.

“Thank you Mingyu,” he whispered, “I love you,”

“I love you too, so much.”

Mingyu was doing phenomenal; he worked himself to death and became a well known composer who was paid lucrative amounts for his self composed pieces. He lived a tremendously classy life and many knew of him as the nineteen year old prodigy who would soon take over the world.

Wonwoo was so proud of him.

The six feet of beauty and goofiness was everything he could ever ask for. His heart would burst at the seams whenever Mingyu’s silhouette morphed into his line of sight, and he just loved basking in the other’s comforting presence and sweet refreshing scent.

Boy, was he smitten.

 

“Daffodils and daises,” Wonwoo demanded with a flick of his pen.

The two were in their natural habitat (Mingyu’s apartment) with loose papers and ugly scribbles strewn about on the desk. Empty creamer packets, mugs and candy and pastry wrappers spilled across their arms. Soon enough, Mingyu would start complaining about _how messy you are_ and set his mind on arranging this ungodly mess.

“How about roses?” Mingyu was busy doodling childish, cartoonish superheroes on his notebook.

“Red and pale pink. And maybe some yellow tulips.”

His boyfriend offered him a heartwarming smile, happiness illuminating from his face. Wonwoo offered him a bashful grin. The blue haired male began sifting his hands through the papers, gathering them up into a neat stack.

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” Wonwoo whispered.

“Me too,” Mingyu pressed a kiss to his cheek and butterflies began fluttering up a storm inside of his chest.

Wonwoo willingly permitted the other to spoon him, shower him with kisses and love him until dawn sparked a light in the velvet skies.

“You are _perfect_.”

 

The vase toppled over the glass edge and landed with a loud smash, shattering into thousands of broken ceramic fragments. Wonwoo hissed, flinching at the sound, and fisted the fabric of Mingyu’s collar with his eyes narrowed.

“You better fucking admit it.”

“Fuck you,” Mingyu spat bitterly, shoving him away forcefully, “I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just you and your crazy fantasies.”

Wonwoo stumbled backwards, holding in a cry of pain as the sharp smithereens cut through his soles. Mingyu does not bother with a double take, barging out of the apartment in a rage and slamming the door behind him. The brunet breathed out a heavy sigh of exhaustion, eyelashes slowly fluttering shut.

Beads of sweat stained his forehead and tears began welling up in his eyes, causing his visions to waver.

_Why?_

A large gaping hole caved into his chest, ripping at the edges.

Blood was soaking up the rivets of the marble tiles beneath his feet, and trickling down his forearm in thin thread-like streams. But he could feel nothing. Just a strange numbing feeling reverberating in his chest. He had watched with his own two eyes, as Mingyu waltzed down the mall with a gorgeous supermodel at his arm.

Wonwoo slept alone that night, with dried blood staining his pale flesh.

 

“You slipped and fell in the kitchen?”

Wonwoo spooned some kimchi into his mouth with a nod. He was desperately trying to avoid eye contact because Jihoon was definitely _not_ buying it. The peachy haired male clicked his tongue with knitted eyebrows, waving his chopsticks around.

“That’s terrible, try again.”

He rolled his head back with a groan. Jihoon could see through everything and the fact that Wonwoo was terrible at lying did him no justice.

“Look, I wasn’t lying. I really did slip and fall,” he huffed.

“We both know that that’s not true. What _happened_?”

“Okay fine, I was taking a shower and–”

The grumpy male with strawberry hair (or the tiny terror as Wonwoo calls him) slammed his utensils down onto the table and shot the other a dangerous look.

“Jeon Wonwoo, I will have your throat if you dare lie to me.”

Pregnant silence hung in the room. The brunet could feel his shoulders sinking in defeat. He dunked back a shot of soju and reached for the bottle to refill his glass. Jihoon’s eyes were aflame, fury burning in his gut as he took in every detail. He clenched his teeth, neck flushed in pure anger.

But a tipsy smile made its way up to Wonwoo’s face, and he simply said that things were alright.

Because he loved Mingyu.

 

“I’m so sorry.”

The raven haired male did not respond. He stared off into the distance, relishing the fleeting sensation of his lover’s lips ghosting across his fresh scars. Mingyu was on his knees, guilt glassing over his eyes as he peppered chaste kisses over Wonwoo’s arms.

“What I did was unforgivable,” he muttered sorrowfully, curling his strong arms around his lover and pulling him into a warm embrace, “You are my precious baby and I shouldn’t have hurt you.”

Wonwoo stared at him, blank, although the emotions crossing his eyes did not go unnoticed.

“I love you Mingyu.”

He had said those words a thousand times before and he was not afraid to repeat them as long as he lived. Mingyu smiled and eyed him with adoration, carding his large calloused fingers through the other’s dark locks.

“As do I.”

He didn’t say it back.

 

The young man drooped over the oak table, digits stained with colours and cheeks besmeared with streaks of nontoxic white. Fatigue began to slowly settle in. He switched his gaze back to the painting standing proudly before him. It had taken him a substantial amount of time to complete, and it was bewitching.

Twinkling clusters of stars spilled across the blank canvas, the pale light of the Milky Way weaving through the elaborate constellations. Glisters of horoscopes erupted within the skies, stretching far across the universe. It was a hypnotising sight.

He smiled. The paintbrush lapsed from his grasp and a loud sigh was drawn out from the back of his throat. Everything was okay…just for a moment. Wonwoo dropped his tools and proceeded to wash himself down, frowning at the colours in the tresses of his hair. He wiped his hands on a rag with a happy grin.

7th November.

Surely they would have a romantic dinner date tonight, with a bouquet of roses, perhaps. He whipped out his phone to dial a familiar number.

“Mingyu.”

A crackle of static, followed by some unruly background noise.

“Hey baby.”

“You sound occupied. Are you on your way home yet? I’m starving and I expect chocolates,” he gleefully supplied.

There was an evident pause.

“Ah, about that.”

Wonwoo could feel his heart sinking like an anchor. Did Mingyu forget? He never forgets.

“I’m sorry Wonwoo, but I will be having a meeting with one of the producers tonight. There’s some composing work I have to complete,”

“But–” he tried not to sound disappointed, even though the tears were brimming in his eyes and the bile was slowly rising up in his throat. “Well, it’s fine. We can have dinner some other time. Don’t come home too late, alright?”

“I won’t. Love you baby.”

“I love you too.”

“Happy anniversary.”

Mingyu had hung up.

Wonwoo could feel it — his heart crashing into the ground and falling apart into pieces. He honestly tried not to be so bummed out, but he knew that Mingyu had a busy schedule. The kid was on his way to become a world famous composer, for god’s sake. This was going to happen eventually, sooner or later anyway.

Yet he could not help but step into the shower to cry for an hour or so before making himself a dinner of wine and pasta. It was lonely. But the young man does not complain, and he slept on the couch while feeling light on red wine.

Mingyu does not return home that night.

 

The fights began to escalate out of scale. It was all about the little things. Mingyu would camp out in the studio for days and Wonwoo would stay up all night waiting for him, only to be disappointed over and over again. Nothing seemed to be working out. And sure enough, the fuse on the tension soon lit up and exploded between them.

The arguments grew incessantly violent, garnering the attention of their neighbours. They would shove and throw punches and yell threats at one another all night, with things crashing and smashing around them. It was just…so _loud_.

Wonwoo never did have an upper hand when it came to talking with his fists and twice did he show up at Jihoon’s apartment with a bruise or two.

“This is insane. He’s hurting you. Break up with him.”

“I can’t,” he whispered brokenly, crouched over a steaming bowl of instant noodles, “I love him. He loves me too.”

“After he punched you?” Jihoon asked in disbelief, “Thrice, in the face? Kid, you can’t be serious right now.”

“We are just not on the same page,” he reasoned, “But I reckon that it’ll pass, soon.”

It doesn’t.

Because when you are at your peak, the only direction left to go is rock bottom. And life eagerly whisked him off on a trip to hell.

 

He woke up one morning with a tickle at the back of his throat. It does not bother him but he downed three glasses of water after his morning coffee anyway. Wonwoo woke up to an empty bed everyday, unconsciously registering just an occasional dip of warmth next to him in the middle of the night.

The echoes of Mingyu’s laughter no longer rang through the walls. He could not remember the last time they had hung out and watched movies. It has been too long. He coughed, smiling as Jihoon’s name popped up on the luminous screen of his phone.

**From: pink fairy**

wanna watch criminal minds at my place? i’ve got soju.

**From: kraken**

be there in fifteen.

Wonwoo instantly knew that something was wrong when his eyes abruptly flew open in the middle of the night during his sleepover at Jihoon’s, and he could feel the nauseous feeling rising in his throat. He bolted out of the bed to throw himself into the bathroom, a violent fit of coughs bubbling in his chest.

The brunet flung himself over the basin, hacking out the contents of his stomach. Warm crimson drops of blood splattered before him and a strange flash of pink fluttered past his eyes. He froze. What the fuck? His knuckles began whitening around the edges of the basin. It can’t be. _It can’t be._ A hollow sensation bore into his chest.

A handful of crumpled clove pink petals sat at the bottom of the sink, painted with blood.

 

Mingyu returned home with eyeliner and composition sheets under his arm, and a distasteful stench of smoke in the air. Wonwoo crinkled his nose. His boyfriend wasn’t a smoker. The blue haired male held him close and pressed their lips together, as he always did. And Wonwoo could feel it.

His breath hitching in his throat and heart racing in his chest. Mingyu still seemed as breathtaking as ever, and Wonwoo saw those glimmering galaxies wallowing in his alluring youthful eyes. He was falling harder with each passing day, even if his bruises ached and his scars ceased to fade.

“Do you love me?”

“I do,” Mingyu simply replied.

The raven haired male widened his eyes as an itch surged up his trachea. He suppressed the urge to break out into a fit of coughs, simply burying himself further against the other’s chest. Mingyu felt like home and he never ever wanted to leave, even if it killed him.

When his boyfriend was home and sound asleep after a long day, he would lock himself in the bathroom and knead his fingers against the back of his throat to force out all the floras clogging up his chest, which was insistent on ripping him apart.

Wonwoo stared in tears as strings of violet petals threaded past his lips, saliva and blood dribbling down his chin. _Mingyu loves me._ He sunk down onto the floor, shivers gnawing along the ridges of his spine.

Mingyu loves…me. 

 

“The disease is in its blooming stage,” the doctor explained, “You are lucky that you had it diagnosed earlier; it would be safer to have the surgery as soon as possible.”

“It doesn’t disappear naturally?” Wonwoo inquired, the desperation evident in his eyes.

“Afraid not. It only occurs when your affections are reciprocated.”

“What if I refuse to get the surgery?”

The doctor looked hesitant.

“Young man, you will…die. The flowers will gradually suffocate you to death.”

Then so be it, he thought.

 

He couldn’t breathe. A wine glass tipped over and shattered by his side, and he flinched in fright. Mingyu was shouting and swinging dangerous objects at him in anger. _You’re selfish._ His voice echoed somehow at the back of Wonwoo’s head. _Selfish._ He tried to catch heavy gulps of air, like a goldfish out of water.

His lungs tightened up. Petals were plugging up his oesophagus, his breaths were coming short and shallow and Wonwoo was...drowning. Drowning in a sea of flowers and oh, the beauty. What could be better than dying with gardens blossoming in his chest? He curled his fists, gritting his teeth.

“Just leave,” he rasped, waving a hand at the door.

Mingyu does not notice the inherent paleness of Wonwoo’s face, the heavy shade of unhealthy blue sinking underneath his eyes and how the young man had shrunk in his clothes. He saw nothing. The young man simply turned on his heels and marched out of the egress with anger burning in his eyes.

Wonwoo collapsed into a heap on the carpeted floor, twitching in pain. The flowers were swallowing him alive. He hissed, coughing out his lungs and watching helplessly as streams of petals tumbled out from his mouth.

Flowers brought a tone of vibrancy into this comically dusty world.

They were so beautiful.

But the sight of the delicate blue petals trickling past his throat, ornamented with streaks of white and blood marring its edges; it was just nauseating to see. He stroked a tender petal between his slender digits, a smile curving up the corners of his lips. Wonwoo could feel the pain clouding his chest cavity and blooming into a thick numbing sensation inside of him.

A zest of iron intruded his taste buds. He sprawled on the floor, surrounded by feathery petals and wilting leaves.

If he was going to die, he will willingly do so, from unreciprocated love.

 

The raven haired male stared into the mirror mournfully, bare from the waist up. Vague traces of green vines were forming along his torso, climbing up his chest and forking out among his ribs. His body tingled in fear. A monster reflected back into his eyes. The flowers were scratching at his vocal chords, and he couldn’t speak.

Soon enough the slim frail stems were going to creep up his neck and people were going to know. A sour tang of copper sat behind his tongue and he thrusted his face into the basin to throw up violently. He could feel it. More flowers budding in his chest, blossoming and latching onto his throat to cut off his air supply.

Mingyu had completely fallen out of love with him. The incomprehensible thought broke him down from within the core of his soul, tearing him into shreds. Thick leafy stalks were winding around his pumping heart and his breaths were coming out shallow and broken.

He could feel the flowers soaking up his distress and woeful screams, spilling past his lips in the form of hundreds of bloodied petals. Wonwoo wiped his mouth with his forehand messily, smearing blood and tears across his cheek. Amongst the petals sat a sinfully beautiful flower, crimson to the ends and slowly wilting upon disposal.

It reminded him of his unrequited love for Mingyu. Wonwoo gingerly reached for the rose and it sat upon his palm gracefully.

 

His sleeves soon rolled past his fingers, and he started swimming in his sweaters. Jihoon was beyond concerned. He begged Wonwoo to take care of himself because he was growing slender to the bones and he had _no_ idea what was going on. It was painful and terrifying to watch.

Wonwoo’s existence was slowly fading into pellucidity and no matter how hard Jihoon tried to grab on, it was like catching water; the waves slipping past the gaps of his fingers like silk, rocking away into the sea, far beyond his grasp.

And one night, he found Wonwoo laying unconscious on the floor, petals stringing past his lips, and he screamed until his throat went raw. The green tendrils were starting to creep down Wonwoo’s arms.

Three weeks in, and he was going to lose Wonwoo.

He was going to lose his best friend, who chose love over living.

 

“I don’t care, you are going in for the surgery and that’s final,” Jihoon responded adamantly, arms crossed and eyes lined with red.

“I can’t,” he was babbling through ugly tears and tissues, “I can’t imagine a life without loving him. I can’t wake up from the surgery and remember all our memories but feel nothing about it.”

“Wonwoo,” Jihoon leaned over the edge of the bed to hold his hand, tears escaping his eyes, “Your love for him is literally killing you. You don’t have much time left and I can’t just sit back and watch you die. He’s not worth dying for.”

“Just give me three days,” he pleaded, “If it doesn’t get any better then, I promise I will take the surgery.”

Jihoon reluctantly relented after much badgering.

 

A foul taste lingered on his lips. He pattered down the crowded streets in a sweater too large for his shoulders and a large canvas bearing the galaxies weighing down his arms. The raven haired male noticed pitiful stares and heads turning through his peripherals. He couldn’t hide it anymore.

The flowers had finally made their way up to his windpipe, branching out across the milky flesh of his neck. He was constantly coughing out loose petals, which he would gather in his palms and hide in his pockets.

He was perishing. Death would be kinder, he thought, than suffering in anguish from these flowers. But he didn’t mind dying, knowing that he had loved. He just prayed that it would be worth the torment in the end.

Wonwoo halted his footsteps when he found himself standing in front of a familiar building. Mingyu spent late nights here, pouring his brilliance into musical sheets. Jealousy clumped up inside of his heart. Mingyu had always stood out more between the two of them.

Wonwoo had an artistic flair, hands frequently working on ingenious creations which often found home in luxurious mansions. But Mingyu was brighter, sociable and popular amongst the ladies. His work was featured in billboard albums and he was a music icon. Wonwoo was too plain, too simple for a man like him.

He advanced towards the tinted entrance. And the world suddenly stopped spinning, his heart screeching to a pause for a moment of doubt. His feet shuffled to a stop. The noise in his surroundings began to clog up his ears, amplifying in his eardrums in loud painful echoes.

Mingyu strode out of the building with a beautiful man at his hip. They kissed, and the way their bodies fitted together so perfectly burned the back of his eyes. Wonwoo watched, residing in the shadows. The tickle in his throat was growing impossibly sore.

Mingyu’s eyes were filled with sparkles and hope.

 

It was the same way Mingyu had looked at him once upon a time.


	2. flightless butterflies × end

Flowers in full bloom wrenched through his thoracic cavity. Roses, accompanied by their thorny twines, tore out of his throat defiantly. Blood drippled down the basin and created a terrifying waterfall, a fearful sight resembling one of a cinematic crime scene.

His cries came out in shattered yelps and tears came cascading down his unoffending cheeks; the jagged ends of the thorns having scraped against his throat as he threw up. He could no longer speak without breaking down into blood and tears. There wasn’t much time left in this body of his, he thought.

**From: wonwoo**

we need to talk. i won’t take too much of your time.

**From: mingyu**

ok, i’ll drop by at seven.

 

The blue haired male toed off his shoes and swept past the threshold with a hum. He dropped his belongings and stepped into the dining room, where the raven haired male was tucked comfortably into a chair. Silence settled over the room and Mingyu could feel a wave of nausea crashing onto him, before he lurched forward with terror eating away at his eyes.

“Wonwoo,” he whispered.

Wonwoo’s eyes drifted upwards, slowly registering the other’s face in his mind. Ah, my unrequited love. He tried to crack a smile, even if his nerves were aching with fatigue and he was on the verge of passing out.

Lively green vines were webbing across his right cheek and protruding through the flesh of his neck, with the welcoming colour of death wallowing in his round obsidian orbs. Through the thin cotton shirt he was wearing (which had grown two sizes too big for him); Mingyu could catch a glimpse of the stems.

Racing down his arms along with his vivid bluish veins, hesitantly pulsing with life.

“Mingyu,” he muttered, voice scratchy and uncharacteristically ugly.

Mingyu was terrified.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you had found someone else?” he shot back.

The blue haired male clenched his jaw. Wonwoo coughed out another handful of crimson petals, scrubbing the back of his hand over his mouth in frustration. He felt dizzy, like he had been thrown onto a carousel of steroids. Mingyu could only stand frozen at the spot with an unbearable ache settling like bricks in his gut.

How could he have been so oblivious?

The brunet scrunched his face in discontent as a sticky bitter substance welled in his salivary glands.

“Why didn’t you take the surgery?” Mingyu shouted, “Why are you waiting?”

Wonwoo took a sip of water, swallowing with much difficulty and watching as the glass trembled violently in his grasp. He was sufficiently angry at himself.

“You are the first and only person I have ever loved, Mingyu. Losing my feelings for you…would be no better than death.”

“And you decided to die on me instead?” Mingyu gritted his teeth, fear bubbling deep in his chest, “Selfish, Wonwoo. That’s just fucking selfish.”

Wonwoo chuckled. “But it makes me happy,” his voice was hoarse, crackling at every syllable, “I can die knowing that I loved you and only you.”

“You told me that you were going to become a world famous artist. We were going to soar together,” he hissed with watery eyes, “What happened to your dreams, Wonwoo? You can’t just die. You _can’t_.”

“I painted what I could see in you. You manifested before me like a celestial being, so I painted angels in glorious white wings. You stared into my eyes and I could see the universe, so I painted the stars illuminating from the galaxies.”

Wonwoo downed the rest of the fluids in his glass. A fond memory rekindled his senses, and he smiled. “Do you remember when I first created the Oath?”

His first piece ever sold was a beautiful rendition of the mythical Greek goddess, Aphrodite. It was astoundingly stunning.

A fountain of shimmering golden hair poured past her shoulders, her eyes crystalline and her skin pristine and immaculate. She cradled a live beating heart in her mellow palms, tendons and veins spilling down her arms as blood trickled past the gaps of her fingers.

Wonwoo had torn his heart out of his chest and offered it to Mingyu, who had in exchange, gingerly cushioned the heart in the safety of his hands, accepting all of Wonwoo’s flaws and imperfections.

Sure, there was blood staining his clothes and flesh, but it barely mattered. Because Wonwoo, this precious innocent boy, had poured all his heart out for Mingyu; his love true to the bone. But now he was dying, because Mingyu no longer loved him back. Mingyu could feel the fear pulsing in his veins.

He was killing Wonwoo.

His strong arms came encircled around the other’s frail physique and Wonwoo instantly relaxed into the warmth and scent cloaking his figure. Mingyu felt his entire world crumble and crash around him. His boyfriend felt so brittle and vulnerable, pressed up against his broad chest in this manner.

He ran his calloused fingers down Wonwoo’s neck, swallowing thickly as his thumb smoothed against several thin strands of stalks. He sealed their lips in a desperate, searing kiss and all of a sudden, they turned eighteen again.

When everything seemed so right, their futures alit and blazing with passion. When they would cuddle and love with all their hearts, hold onto one another for hours to end and reassure themselves that nothing would go wrong — as long as they were together. It was them against the world.

But the past was long gone.

Their breaths mingled, their fingers were tightly intertwined and Wonwoo…took in an unfamiliar hint of perfume. His heart wrenched in pain. That’s right. _Mingyu no longer loves you, dumbass._ _What were you thinking?_

He sobbed uncontrollably as they parted, his lungs sealed up with petals. Wonwoo was cultivating a garden in his chest and it would be a beauteous sight, if not for the florals crafting its spines around his insides and strangling him to death.

“You can’t die,” Mingyu breathed.

Wonwoo smiled. The view before him began to waver, tears and dizziness bedimming his sight and he kept his eyes fixated on Mingyu’s accentuated features in despondence before knocking out into darkness.

 

He spat out the petals sitting on his tongue in disgust. Ample sleep was hard to come by when he was constantly having flowers jammed in his throat. The doctors had managed to perform a quick surgery to remove some of the loose petals from his lungs.

But the complicated procedures of cleaning out the stems and stalks from his body entirely was too risky and it wouldn’t do him any favours. They were growing at a phenomenal speed. At least he could breathe without choking while he slept tonight.

“You are an idiot.”

“Heard that.”

“Why would you let it fester inside of you?” The frustration built up inside of him was exploding because he just couldn’t understand _why_.

“How could I live knowing that we have kissed and loved, and yet every time I look into your eyes, I can’t feel my heart taking a plunge or the butterflies bursting in my chest?”

Mingyu could feel his heart shattering into millions of pieces. He collected the other’s delicate fingers into his grasp. How did this happen? How had he fallen out of love with this precious gem? How could he have hurt him?

Wonwoo watched as Mingyu’s kisses rippled across his knuckles. It was a euphoric feeling, even if the gesture was simply void of love. The thought brought about an irritating sensation, which clawed at his larynx in anger. He pushed it aside in a dark corner of his mind.

“I’m tired.”

“I’ll go. You get some rest.”

“No please,” his fingers caught onto the hems of Mingyu’s sleeve, “Please don’t go.”

Mingyu could feel a foreign sensation seeping into his veins, a light prickle jumping under his skin. He nodded in response, exhaling heavily. Wonwoo shifted underneath the crisp sheets, scooting over as the blue haired male dipped into the bed next to him.

He hated hospitals.

The air always had an undertone of bleach, the surroundings bland yet sterilised. But as he nosed his way to the column of Mingyu’s neck, he could only scent the other’s strong cologne, comforting and warming him to the toes. _Perfect._ Mingyu shut his eyes, the drowsiness heavy on his lids as he kept the patient tucked safely in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he hemmed, drifting into sleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

Wonwoo watched him, his gaze soft and tired. Mingyu had been up all night, cleaning the petals and ensuring that the patient was well rested and comfortable. He didn’t quite know how he felt about that.

He traced his fingers along the other’s well defined features with a chuckle. This is the Mingyu he fell in love with. The charming innocent Mingyu, who brought all the smiles and laughter into his dull world.

How did this happen? How did their love evanesce into nothingness, its existence so easily extinguished in a blink of an eye? A brilliant crimson petal landed on his pillows and he fell back into a fit of coughs, clutching onto Mingyu’s hand like his life depended on it.

A transition of memories breezed through his thoughts and peace gurgled in his gut as his heart throbbed steadily in his chest.

He was happy.

 

Mingyu woke up to splashes of blood, roses in their full bloom and a cold lifeless body in his presence. The lack of pulse frightened him and he could only tremble and scream in terror, with shaky sobs flickering past his throat.

He refused to believe that Wonwoo was dead, even after they had tucked him into creamy white clothes and lowered him six feet under the ground.

Jihoon does not ever forgive him. The short peachy haired male confronted him after the ceremony, dried leaves and grass susurrating under their feet and the wind sympathising with their sorrows, caressing and stroking their tear stained faces.

“How can you even find the audacity to shed a tear at his funeral?”

He is right.

Neither has Mingyu ever forgiven himself since.

 

He is devoid of emotions, except for extreme pain. Days and weeks passed, and the feeble numbness he had been hurled into was exhausting. The sheets were creased and empty, except for the lingering scent of Wonwoo’s favourite soap.

The silence in his apartment was deafening. The busy pattering of Wonwoo’s feet, his brushes splattering art against paper and his lively humming reverberating through the thin walls of the apartment…It was all gone, forever. And while he had spent a significant amount of time away from home, he missed the music.

He missed Wonwoo, so much. But Jihoon is right. He does not deserve to miss his dead lover. Wonwoo had died willingly for their love. And yet Mingyu took him for granted.

His chest felt vacant. He wished he could turn back the time to the days where they were youthful and dumb again, constantly exchanging secretive glances and bashful smiles. The times of ugly backward baseball caps, uncontrollable laughter over cheesy movies and kisses in school hallways.

The fact that Wonwoo is dead and gone does not seem to sink in. He was driving himself insane, and for good reason.

 

Jihoon arrived at his door reluctantly one day, looking like an utter mess with his dishevelled hair sticking out everywhere and his dark circles sinking into his cheeks, contrasting his pale look. He shoved a canvas into Mingyu’s arms; it was a finished piece which he had found in Wonwoo’s art room.

“I didn’t want to hand it over,” he grumbled, “But it was addressed to you and Wonwoo would have killed me if I didn’t.”

Mingyu is grateful.

It was an intricate painting which had taken painstaking effort to bring to life. A rough sketch of a man’s visage, shadowed with prepossessing beauty, had been carved out into the wide expanse of white. He had familiar eyes and peachy lips. His right cheek was coloured in with flower petals, whirling pink with detailed life and escaping into the blank space of the canvas.

An alluring yet aggressive crimson rose bloomed forward from behind his ear, and his pupils bore a strong cerulean tone of the seas. Mingyu could see the confidence in those eyes, yet he had this unsettling feeling that those eyes hid the fears of a broken boy. A boy who was desperate for his affections to be returned. A boy, who did nothing but love the hideous monster residing in Mingyu’s heart.

He choked up, brushing a finger along the scarlet teardrop escaping the painting’s eye. He definitely does not miss the thorny stems creeping and growing along the man’s shoulder blades, a sight he hated to see.

This was Wonwoo.

A man who he had once loved.

He winced, heavy waves of discomfort churning through his chest as he unfolded the note attached to the painting.

‘Mingyu, you have and always will be the most amazing gift ever bestowed upon me. You are my world…and I have lived an amazing life being able to love you. Though I can’t stay any longer, I know many will cherish you and your beautiful smiles, as I did before.’

He began coughing violently. Mingyu bolted towards the washroom, brows furrowed as a nauseous feeling launched through his chest. He gently crumpled the note in his grip, cheeks burning with fresh tears.

‘I have no regrets, Mingyu. I departed from this world in peace. Thank you for everything, for all the memories and for making me the happiest man alive.’

He shook his head vehemently, despair shaking him to the bones as he collapsed onto the floor in a fit of sobs and hiccups.

‘Goodbye, Mingyu. I love you and you will remain in my heart forever.’

Several tender petals of royal blue perched upon his palm innocently, tainted with splotches of fresh blood.

 

The male crouched under the shade of the longevous tree, headphones clapped over his ears and eyes wandering over the sturdy branches and leaves hovering above his head. His legs were crossed awkwardly, with a crumpled notebook sitting on his lap and the crisp grass carpeted underneath him dancing along with the breeze.

A faded sweater and crumpled sweatpants hung on his figure, clearly too large for his dwindling frame. His cheeks had sunken in and dark circles were outlining his youthful but lifeless eyes. It has been exactly two months since Wonwoo’s death. In the beginning, it all just felt like a crashing dream.

A horrendous nightmare which he would eventually wake up from.

But reality was difficult to reject, when he woke up every morning without Wonwoo in his arms, and a lingering scent of nectar and soap in the air. How could he have been taken away so easily? Mingyu gradually came to terms with himself and agreed that he was nothing more than a cold blooded murderer.

He allowed his lover to wither away and suffer in anguish, with florals building a meadow in his chest.

And now, fate had decided to return the favour.

He clasped a large calloused hand over his mouth and hacked out a fitful of vigorous coughs. A sweet honey like taste invaded his taste buds, and delicate petals of violet and amber fluttered to rest on his palm. Mingyu whipped off his headphones, music floating into the sighs of the wind.

There was a rustle of movement, a hand brushing past his arm and a sealed bottle of water tumbling onto his lap. He glimpsed over his shoulder. A slender raven haired male was seated next to him, legs pulled up to his chest and hands encircled around a can of peach juice. He did not smile nor utter a single word towards the other.

Mingyu could instantly feel his heart race at the sight of the beautiful young man.

“Wonwoo,” Mingyu acknowledged.

The latter refused to spare him a single glance. But of course. Mingyu drooped his gaze. He understood. No one would be able to find serenity in their hearts after that ordeal. He squeezed the bottle gratefully in a hand and brushed away the petals from his lap. They sat together in silence for some time, with Mingyu squirming uncomfortably by his side.

“You are on the development stage, aren’t you?” Wonwoo finally muttered.

Surprise lit up his eyes; he hadn’t expected the male to speak with him in such a civil manner. He simply nodded, proceeding to sketch a handful of musical notes over the lines on his notebook.

“You noticed.”

The younger emptied the can and sprawled back on the grass, watching as swallows flocked across the skies. “You should get the surgery soon.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t you?”

The blue haired male _loathed_ himself. He knew that he had earned this. It wasn’t pleasant, waking up with bundles of loose petals in his throat every morning. But this is the agony he had bestowed upon his lover, and he knew the deserved the same treatment, if not more.

“Did you want me to die in vain, Mingyu?”

They hesitantly exchanged glances with one another, and Mingyu could feel a gentle thrumming in his chest. Wonwoo had such gorgeous almond eyes; a glint of fondness in those tender obsidian orbs which conveyed unbearable emotions. And it struck him right in the middle, pain swelling inside of his chest.

But he still could not bring himself to tear his gaze away.

“He wanted you to live your life to the fullest. And you know, all that cheesy stuff. I bet he would’ve wanted you to move on too.”

Mingyu blinked in confusion as a petite youngster with flamingo hair manifested before his eyes, and it suddenly hit him – his lover was no longer amongst the living. Jihoon fiddled with a blade of grass between his fingers mindlessly. Mingyu male lowered his head, furiously scribbling over his musical sheets in a feeble attempt to distract himself.

The short male clambered up to his feet, huffing. “Whatever. I don’t even know why I’m here. Just get the fucking surgery before I make you do it. Wonwoo would have wanted the same.”

He crossed the field to retrieve his bicycle and proceeded to cycle down the roads, away from sight.

Mingyu gazed down at the petals that were sweeping past his feet and entwining with the swirls of the wind.

 

He stood at the threshold of the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. His beautiful lover was busying himself with dinner preparations, humming to his old favourite tunes over the stove. It was a heart warming sight. Wonwoo spooned some kimchi soup into his mouth, smacking his lips with a nod of satisfaction at the taste.

“Needs more salt,” he muttered to himself.

The raven haired male reached for the bottle, craning his neck with a radiant smile when he noticed the other standing at the doorway. “You are staring again.”

Mingyu broke out into a fit of chuckles and shuffled towards him, hands thrusted deep in his pockets. What a nostalgic sight, he thought. Cooking was a routine they enjoyed together back in those days. Or perhaps they just found solace being with each other. Wonwoo handed the other a ladle, evenly sprinkling a pinch of salt into the pot.

“Have you considered getting the surgery yet?”

The blue haired male stirred the stew leisurely, falling into a daze. “I don’t plan on going for one. You died from the growth of the flowers. I should share the same medicine too.”

“Mingyu, listen. Look at me.”

He peered up reluctantly. Wonwoo seemed young and eighteen again, awkward and lanky, cheeks rosy and flushed with his dark bangs swept across his eyelids. A fond smile was imprinted on his beauteous features, kind and warm.

“You have to take the surgery. Or I’ll remain right here,” his palm settled comfortably on Mingyu’s broad chest, “In your heart, tormenting you until you take your last breath. You need to forget me. Only then will you be able to find peace in your heart. Keep going forward, and we’ll be able to meet one day again. I promise.”

“Wonwoo,” he inhaled sharply, tears coursing down his pale cheeks from his reddening eyes, “I love you.”

The raven haired male managed a faint smile.

“I know.”

He blinked away the cursed tears that were blurring his visions and frantically glanced around in the kitchen. A tinge of cologne caused his senses to spark wistfully. And he was all alone once more, surrounded by the chirping of birds in a distance and silence.

 

Mingyu splayed on the mattress with a picture frame in his hand. An old photograph stared right back at him, glowing with innocent happiness. Wonwoo was nestled on Mingyu’s lap, face scrunched up in genuine laughter as Mingyu posed at the camera cheerfully with a baseball cap propped on his head and an MVP medal tucked between his fingers.

It was one of their happiest moments, when they were still youthful and playful.

The regret was eating him up, chewing on his flesh and bones and slowly consuming him in flames. He had abandoned his love for a beauty who he did not truly love and now he was paying the price for it. He threw himself out of bed, coughing and rasping laboriously. Spatters of crimson stained his eyesight.

A loud pang resounded through his chest. He scrambled about for his phone and punched in a distressed email, before abruptly keeling over and fading out into darkness.

 

“Wonwoo?”

The raven haired male stood upon a field of green, basking in the zephyr as the blankets of perfectly trimmed grass brushed against his bare feet. He was garbed in white, sleeves cutting off at his knuckles and the ends of his trousers smudging against the dirt beneath the grass. A radiant look washed over on his face, and he seemed content with the world. Mingyu regarded him in silence, awed by his beauty.

“Wonwoo!”

Wonwoo glanced over his shoulder, a bedazzling smile instantaneously lighting up his countenance and his lustrous ebony eyes glistening with joy. He was…beautiful. Mingyu could feel himself crashing and falling apart into smithereens. He watched as his lover slowly dissipated into thin air, fading into handfuls of minute dust and particles.

It was like…his existence was all just a dream.

 

Waking up had never felt so painful.

He was jolted awake by a violent cough, pain prickling along his nerves like needles. The youngster pushed the pads of his fingers against his neck, clearing his throat to find that his airway was clean. A quick inspection found him within the confines of a familiar, pale room oozing with the overwhelming odour of disinfectant.

Jihoon was settled in a comfortable chair propped up next to the bed, leafing through the pages of a thick glossy magazine with his earphones in. He lifted his gaze to examine the patient, who was fully equipped with IV tubes running along his thin arms and strings of oxygen tubing tucked under his nose. After regarding him with a raised eyebrow, he returned to his magazine once more.

“You are awake,” he uttered in a calm, casual tone, “How are you feeling, nitwit?”

Yeah, he just felt nauseous. The air was too light and breezy. It was like he had been disconnected from reality; his body simply floating in an aimless wind with the whispers of tender, poisonously sweet voices tinkling in his ears. He gazed down at his open palms, feeling a sudden surge of pain bursting in his veins.

Jihoon furrowed his brows in confusion, tilting his head questioningly. “Mingyu?”

The blue haired male raised his head and straightened up on the bed, suppressing the ache with a grunt. “Sorry. What happened to me?”

Jihoon shut the magazine with an abrupt slap, keeping his eyes glued on the floor. Something was off. They sat in silence for a moment before Jihoon gradually retrieved a loose flower petal from the floor and presented it before him.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Mingyu frowned.

The royal blue petal sat deposited upon Jihoon’s tiny palm, a touch of gold running along its smooth edges. It was devoid of energy, and will soon wither away into nothingness. And it used to be a part of him, tying up his throat and strangling him from within.

Mingyu racked his brains in a struggle. What was going on? His chest cavity was fresh and empty. He was breathing without difficulties.

His being felt…strangely desolate.

No.

He snapped up instantly. “Jihoon, no,” he whispered, utterly broken, “No.”

The peachy haired male shook his head with a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry.”

Tears streamed his cheeks in hot thin streams, and the hollow sensation delving into his chest was simply unrivalled. He was no longer in love. Wonwoo was gone from his heart for eternity. _Gone._ Hazy images of his forgotten lover flashed past his eyes and all he could think about was Wonwoo’s heartwarming smile.

Mingyu snatched his wallet off the nightstand and pinched out a photograph of his younger self, embracing his boyfriend with all the affection in his eyes. But his heart was vacant, void of love for the younger. Weary and helpless, he sunk back onto the mattress, battling with the tears wetting his blanching cheeks.

He was no longer in love with Wonwoo.

 

And for some reason unbeknownst to him, it felt worse than dying.


End file.
